


One by One the Walls Give Way (but do not hide your face)

by theonsfavouritetoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, D/s undertones, Eventual Romance, Feminization, Healing, King in the North Jon, M/M, Misunderstandings, Past Abuse, Past Rape, Past Torture, Post Long Night, Queen in the North Sansa, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, Sexual and otherwise, Slow Burn, Steward Theon, a corset in a world where corsets don't exist, actually I might just tag past Ramsay, even when dead, fix-it elements, functioning Theon, total and utter disregard for most of season 8
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 20:22:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30061053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: One year after the Long Night and against all odds Theon has found his place. He's the Steward of Winterfell, living a comfortable, busy life, he's got a sense of purpose, and he's got Sansa – but something is still missing, and it takes a lot to admit that this something might be found with the King in the North."To love is to battle, to open doors, to cease to be a ghost with a number forever in chains, forever condemned by a faceless master; the world changes if two look at each other and see."- Octavio Paz
Relationships: Jon Snow & Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark/Winterfell, Theon Greyjoy & Sansa Stark, Theon Greyjoy/Jon Snow
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	One by One the Walls Give Way (but do not hide your face)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [November_Leaving](https://archiveofourown.org/users/November_Leaving/gifts).



> Hello! 
> 
> Sooo... some of you guys may remember that teensy ficlet I posted called 'Tighter'? And me saying if anyone's interested I'll expand on that verse? Well, expand it did. Like, a lot. 
> 
> Okay, we're in Winterfell, about a year after the Long Night. Theon is very much alive and well(ish) and the Steward of Winterfell, Sansa is the Queen in the North and Jon is the King in the North, and between the three of them Winterfell runs pretty well. Queen Daenerys, unstabbed and decidedly NOT mad, decided to leave Westeros and sail the world to free more enslaved folk elsewhere, with lovely Missandei and the help of Queen Yara and the Iron Fleet. 
> 
> All the kingdoms in Westeros are independent now (wheel: broken), Bran is something like the head of the European Union and Dany is still queen, only not there. Tyrion is with Bran, and Lord of Casterly Rock. Brienne and Jaime's daughter is Queen of the Westerlands, Gendry is King of the Stormlands (he's not there though, he's sailing with Arya to the West. She calls him her salt boy and he loves it.) Edmure is King of the Riverlands, Robin Arryn in the Vale, some Martell (Arianne from the books?) Queen of Dorne, etc etc. 
> 
> Basically I'm completely ignoring most of season 8, fixing things left and right. If you want to know any character's fate in this verse, drop me a line in the comments :) 
> 
> Last, I know a WIP is always a risk, but, provided I don't get into a freak accident or something, I so very much am determined to finish this. I'm bloody obsessed with it. I'll post chapters as I write them.
> 
> A big thank you to @November_Leaving – this story is for you! It wouldn't exist without you and I'd still privately fantasize about Theon in a corset XD

“What a long day!” Sansa sinks into the large chair by the fire, exhaling a grateful sigh. “I’ll be glad when Jon comes back to do his share of the work. Really, I’ll never understand how Father managed on his own.” 

“He had a good steward,” Theon says, his thoughts drifting to Vayon Poole. “And he had Maester Luwin, and Ser – Ser Rodrik.” 

“Hmmm… I think we have the best stewart Winterfell has ever seen.” Sansa smiles at Theon, then shakes her head at the girl waiting on her. “Thank you, Jaelle, I’m fine. You can retire for tonight.”

“But your dress, your grace–”

“I’ll manage. Go on, run along.” Sansa smiles. “It’s been a long day for you too.”

“Thank you, your grace. Good night, your grace… m’lord.” 

The girl curtsies before she leaves them alone, and Theon looks after her. It’s stupid, but he can’t help the sting when she accepts Sansa’s orders without so much as a suspicious glance in his direction. If he were a real man, Jaelle wouldn’t leave her queen alone with him, but as it is… it’s subtle, but Theon still notices, all the little ways in which the girls in Winterfell treat him differently from other men. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sansa says once the door has closed behind Jaelle. “You’re my most trusted friend, you’re my steward – of course she doesn’t think anything of it. I don’t think she even knows–” 

“There are rumours,” Theon mutters as he pulls his gloves off with a sigh. He always wears them, except when alone in his own rooms, or in Sansa’s. “If you want me to help you out of that dress I need you to get up.” 

“You’re in a foul mood tonight.” Sansa gets to her feet, groaning when she stretches her back, her hands on her belly. “Good gods, I don’t think I’ll wear this dress again for quite some time.”

“It is a little tight,” Theon agrees, his fingers working on the laces at the back of the dress. It takes time, but Sansa never gives even a hint of impatience. “Can’t you wear one of those dresses your lady mother was wearing when she was expecting Rickon?I seem to remember them being very loose around the waist, and not laced so tight.” 

_And her tits looked fantastic in them._

Theon doesn’t say it out loud, smirking to himself as he finishes undoing the last knots. 

“There, all done.” 

He turns away from Sansa as she slips out of the dress and into a warm dressing gown, busying himself with stoking the fire. 

“I’m not yet large enough for that, thank you.” Sansa sits back down in her chair, one hand idly stroking her belly. “I still can wear regular dresses for a couple more months. Only maybe not this one.” She throws the dress lying on the bed a regretful glance. “I like it when I’m laced in tightly. It’s good for my back.” 

“Really?” Theon walks over, kneeling beside her and waiting for Sansa to take his hand and place it on her belly. It’s a familiar gesture. “I don’t know, your grace, it seems vastly uncomfortable.” 

“I assure you, it isn’t. You should try it. You’re only allowed an opinion once you’ve actually worn a dress yourself.” 

Theon bends his head, letting his hair fall into his face. He’d worn a dress once, in another life. But that had been a wedding dress, torn at the back, the white stained with red. He’d only worn it that one night, after Ramsay had been done with his bride, and yet he’d still been hungry for scrapings afterwards. Theon starts when Sansa’s fingers thread in his hair, stroking it back from his face. He looks up, finding her smiling down at him apologetically. 

“I could try it,” he says, smiling back in a weak attempt to lighten the mood. “If you have one that fits me. We could both do with a laugh.” 

“I’ll see what I can find. On the morrow,” Sansa adds, suppressing a yawn. “For tonight I shall find nothing but deep sleep. This has been messing with my dreams.” She strokes over her belly again. “You look tired too, Theon. Is anything the matter?” 

“Just the usual.” Theon shrugs, awkwardly rising to his feet. “Good night, your grace. Don’t forget you’ll have to hear the supplicants in the morning.” 

“I hope they won’t have to watch me lose my breakfast again,” she mutters, and Theon smiles as he closes the door to her bed chamber. 

His own rooms aren’t far, in the same wing as Sansa’s and Jon’s but on another floor, a lot more generous than the ones he’d occupied before the wars. Here the warm water is running through the walls, and together with the large fire and a sheer mountain of furs Theon almost feels warm when he slips into bed. 

Sansa's been right, he thinks, it had been a long day, but as always it doesn’t matter how tired he is, it still takes a long while until he falls asleep, and as usual the dreams wake him before dawn. They’re always the same, ever since the Long Night, of creatures from legends and the most horrible monster of them all, the cold, inhuman face, the searing pain of being pierced through, and then the nothing that had followed.

There’s only a faint shimmer of light in the sky when Theon rises, but the embers glowing in the fireplace give enough light for him to wash and dress before he steps outside. Most of the castle folk are already busy; there’s the smell of freshly baked bread coming from the kitchen and Theon slips inside, accepting a bowl of warm broth and a slice of bread from the kitchen servants. He doesn’t linger, taking his breakfast with him into the steward’s solar. 

After a couple hours of brooding over tax lists and Winterfell’s staff records, Theon decides to take a break. His back is aching already, from the hours spent bent over scrolls and books, and from years of sleeping on a hard floor instead of a bed. Theon stretches, biting back a groan when his spine straightens painfully. He really needs to exercise more. For now Theon contents himself with climbing down the stairs into the yard. 

“M’lord Greyjoy!” 

At the sight of Winterfell’s new kennel master Theon suppresses a sigh. Most of the castle personnel are new, Sansa had seen to that. Apart from Maester Wolkan there’s no man or woman employed in Winterfell who had been here under the Boltons. It’s a relief, not having to ask himself if someone he’s talking to had seen him in his worst state, and Theon is grateful for it. But the new kennel master is a halfwit of epic proportions, with the sole purpose of jangling Theon’s last nerve. 

“What is it this time, Lorill?” Theon asks, trying to keep his voice level. “Has Blue eaten your shoes again?” 

Blue is one of five bitches they keep at the moment, all named after colours. They’re very different from the Bastard’s girls, gentle and affectionate for hunting dogs. Blue is Theon’s favourite and Lorill’s nemesis; the dog never passes on an opportunity to make his life harder. 

“No, m’lord, it’s White. She had her litter tonight.” 

“What? Why didn’t you send for me, man?” Theon shakes his head, already on his way to the kennels. “I thought I’d made that clear!” 

After making sure that the pups and White are properly cared for, Theon instructs Lorill to inform him if there’s the slightest problem. The rest of the morning he spends with the master of horses, watching him break in a new pony and checking if the order of hay has arrived, cataloging the number of bales and the amount of bedding they still have left. In the early afternoon Theon climbs the stairs to the rookery, meaning to check for messages. The maester is already there, bowing his head upon Theon’s appearance. 

“It’s good that you’re here, m’lord, there’s been–” 

Loud cawing and cackling drowns out the rest of his words and Theon suppresses the urge to cover his ears. 

“Drowned fucking god, what is going on here?” 

“It’s a coincidence, I am sure,” the maester says with a bemused look. “It seems all the ravens in the Seven Kingdoms and beyond have gathered in Winterfell at once.” 

He holds out a bunch of scrolls, seven of them, and for a moment Theon has trouble gathering them all in his hands, a couple dropping to the floor. The maester picks them up before Theon can make a move to do so, placing them in his arms with another silent bow. Theon mumbles his thanks, relieved when the maester excuses himself. He’ll never feel easy around the man who treated the worst of his wounds, who knows so much about Theon, who’s been there through all of it, no matter how respectful Wolkan treats him. 

Once back in his solar Theon looks through the scrolls. One from Tyrion for Sansa, one from Arya for Jon, one from Edmure Tully, one from Missandei, one from Jon without an addressee that Theon intends to leave for Sansa, one from the Wall and – Theon smiles as he recognizes his sister’s scrawl on the last scroll. This one's for him, and he just wants to break the seal when there’s a sharp knock on the door and Lorill stumbles inside without waiting for an answer. 

“Beg your pardon, m’lord, I think there’s a problem with one of the pups!” 

Cursing inwardly, Theon stuffs the scroll into his pocket and gets to his feet. Seems like Yara’s letter will have to wait.

***

“The pup was completely fine, of course,” Theon tells Sansa when they have retired after dinner. “The poor little mite is just a little whinier than his siblings.”

“Sounds familiar,” Sansa mutters, her eyes on Edmure’s letter. “What names do you want to give the new litter?”

“I thought about fruits this time, if that’s alright with you.” Theon shrugs. “I might have already named the whiny one White Grape.” 

“Winterfell White Grape, I like it.” Sansa lays Edmure’s letter aside with a sigh. “I might call him Edmure in my head, though.”

She takes the next scroll, Jon’s this time and after a couple minutes she starts to smile. 

“Jon is coming home. Another fortnight and he’ll be back, and then he can deal with that horrible man from Mole’s Town. He asked me to help finance his brothel!” 

Theon chuckles at the outrage in her voice. He knows the man, and he’s a particularly sleazy specimen. 

“How does Jon sound? Is everything going well?” he asks, careful to keep his tone mildly interested. “It can’t be fun, pottering about half the north and staying at various strangers’ homes.” 

“He sounds alright. Tired, but that’s nothing new.” Sansa’s gaze is all too knowing, but she doesn’t say anything further, which Theon is grateful for. “We’re going to have to see that he gets some rest once he’s home.” 

“I thought you’re desperate for him to do more work.” 

“I am,” Sansa says with a sly smile. “And to be able to do that, he needs to be well rested, or he won’t be of much use.” 

“How cunning of you.” Theon shakes his head, amused. “Let’s make a bet: if you can get Jon to actually take some rest, I’ll be your personal servant for a day.”

“Or,” Sansa retorts, “you stop with the nonsense and see to Jon yourself. I’m tired of watching you melt with the wall everytime you’re around him.”

Theon looks aside, a faint heat rising in his chest. She’s not wrong; for all the time that has passed, there’s still something about Jon that makes him anxious, that makes him want to hide. Maybe it’s just the fact that Jon is who he is, righteous and good, too bloody perfect. Maybe it’s because Theon still feels irrationally grateful for what Jon had said to him back then, at Dragonstone. Or maybe it’s a lingering resentment at Jon, for bearing the title of King in the North, when it belonged to another. Or maybe it’s something else entirely. Theon catches Sansa’s gaze, the implications it holds. 

“He’s as lonely as you are,” she says, her voice gentle. “If you just talked to him–” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Theon says firmly. “Jon is – he doesn’t see me. He never sees me.” 

“Now that’s a little unfair, don’t you think? You have to stop being invisible for him to see you.” 

When Theon doesn’t answer she sighs, getting up from her chair. Theon watches her walk over to the bed, picking up a bundle of fabric and shaking it out. It’s a dress, a light blue, and Theon frowns when Sansa holds it out to him. 

“What’s with that?” 

“You said you would try one,” she says, smiling impishly. “This one should fit you beautifully, it’s always been too wide around the shoulders for me.” 

“Drowned god, woman!” Theon shakes his head in disbelief. “You know perfectly well I was joking.” 

“A man’s word is his bond. Or are you afraid it won’t suit your complexion?” 

For a heartbeat Theon is too baffled to speak, but then he starts to grin; the old, arrogant grin.

“There’s nothing that wouldn’t suit my complexion. Give the thing here and I’ll show you.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm once again asking for your opinion... *insert Bernie Sanders meme* I know, comments aren't always easy to do (god I _know_ 😩) but I loooove them and would be thrilled if you told me what you think, or share a headcanon, or just say hi! 
> 
> And there's something else I want to tell you: While I very much love Theon and Sansa friendship and Jon and Sansa having a close siblings-relationship, romantic Jonsa and Theonsa are my absolute NoTPs. It would mean very much to me if there weren't any comments suggesting romantic relations between her and the guys. These days I mostly ship Sansa/Winterfell I guess. Thank you!!
> 
> Title is a mix, first part by Octavio Paz, the second by Maya Angelou


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